Trapped
by h0l1yw0od
Summary: A rescue mission - the rescuer becomes the rescuee. Based on 'classic' Resident Evil


The sound of the glass breaking made his ears hurt. Shivers attacked his spine, he knew everything heard the glass smash. He looked sharply around. Back at the garden from where he had come. It was watching. It was playing with him. And it would be coming for him. The trees creaked and swayed in the cold night breeze and he was certain that something was moving amongst the wood. He was certain he could here a low moaning.  
  
And it was getting closer.  
  
He let go of his grip on the barrel of the gun and positioned it properly on his hand. The butt end had proved a useful tool in regaining quick entry to the house.  
  
Turning his attention back to the room, he climbed in through the window. It was only a small room and even in the gloom he knew there was no one in it. But he could still feel eyes watching his every movement.  
  
A screaming howl came from the garden and he spun around to catch it in the act. Looking out onto the garden, he could see nothing.  
  
After several deep breaths, he stumbled toward what he could just make out as a desk. He felt around, knocking ornaments and was eventually able to identify a small table lamp. The light was not over powerful but it hurt his eyes for a few seconds after he turned it on. Now he could see how much his hands were shaking. 'Years of marksman training,' he thought, 'and I couldn't hit a thing right now.'  
  
He took the radio from his belt and held it too his mouth.  
  
"Anyone there, come back?" No response. "Anyone?" There was no sound, not even a crackle. It was as if the walkie-talkie wasn't even turned on, or the batteries had died. But he knew full well that this was not the case. They were too professional to make that kind of stupid mistake. Something had blocked the communications. He hadn't heard from the others for well over an hour and that wasn't right.  
  
The grounds were huge. And it was only by accident that he had found himself outside. But he had not been alone. Dogs protected the land. Only, they seemed different, as if diseased or possessed. It had taken 7 rounds from the Berretta to put down the dog he had come across. But it was when he found the parts in the guest quarters. That's when the mission took on a whole new twist.  
  
He turned his attention away from the desk and looked around. In the corner opposite was a luxurious armchair. At least it was luxurious once. Now it was soaked with blood and torn in what looked like scratch marks. The surrounding area was covered in splatter, spreading over all four walls. Evidence of a violent end to whomever had occupied this room at the time. His gaze went down and his eyes followed the trail of blood, which was clearly shining on the rich carpet, from the chair to the doorway. Whatever died in this room, and it must have died, was dragged out of here.  
  
He moved over to the chair and hesitantly placed his hand on the cushion. The blood formed puddles around his fingers and he pulled away. This was fresher then it looked.  
  
Another howl pierced the night from outside and he jumped, swinging his gun arm into position, aiming out of the window. His eyes so wide, ensuring that nothing moved without his knowing it. And if it moved, he was set to make sure it only moved once.  
  
A minute must have passed. Maybe two, until he lowered the cold steel. There was nothing more in this room. He had to find the others. He had to see if there was anyone left to rescue. Or was it him who needed rescuing now. He wasn't sure anymore.  
  
He stepped across the room to the doorway, the splattered carpet squelching under his standard issue boots. Reaching out, he gripped the doorknob and began to apply pressure. That was when he heard a door slam on the other side. And a shuffling sound which was getting closer. He listened and as the fear began to tell him what was coming in his mind, he slowly moved back from the door. His knuckles white, he held the gun with both hands and pointed it, head height at whatever was coming his way. He released his supporting hand and undone the catch on the combat knife, attached to his body armour. If the 7 bullets left in his sidearm didn't stop what was out there, then that was all he had left. His hand returned to support the other and he waited. He thought o check that the safety was off, but who was he kidding, it hadn't been on in over 30 minutes.  
  
The shuffling was slowly moving toward his door and he didn't know whether to run or fight. There was no where to hide so those were his only options. But those options were dramatically reduced when he saw a hand reach up from outside the window and grab on to the ledge.  
  
And then the shuffling stopped and a scratching began on the door. 


End file.
